


Hang me on the wall (I'm pretty as a picture).

by RABunzai



Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Feeding, Fluff and Crack, Gen, Helpful Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanov-centric, Not Canon Compliant, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Snacks & Snack Food, Tony Stark Has Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-05-03 12:06:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14568669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RABunzai/pseuds/RABunzai
Summary: “I’m going to kill him.”It’s her. It’s a wall to ceiling high resolution print reproduction of her, lying on that itchy fake fur in nothing but the black lace underwear she still has in her closet because damn it, she looks good in it.“I’m going to kill him.”He’d blown the photo up and had it wallpapered on the inside of his wardrobe. Her, in her underwear, on his wall.





	Hang me on the wall (I'm pretty as a picture).

“Damn,” Natasha sighs as she plucks the cheap piece of cloth from SHIELD’s wardrobe bag. The purple tie is crumpled and fraying at the edges. “The tie is bad,” she says, scrunching up the offending object and flinging it back in the duffel beside her.

“The tie is fine, it’s just a tie.” Clint shrugs because of course it’s just a tie to him. The only tie she’s seen him wear voluntarily is the hot dog monstrosity Thor had gifted him in last years Secret Santa.

“Nadia Medhurst will not have her husband wear tailored Armani with a cheap knock off tie. People will notice.”

Nadia Medhurst was her cover for tomorrow night’s fact-finding mission at the Berlin Starlight benefit, a fundraiser for the displaced families of Syria. Nadia was an obnoxious socialite born into old money, who travelled the world throwing her fortune at the next big cause in the dire hope that her generosity could disguise her spiraling drinking habit and existential self-crisis.

Natasha may have been basing her on Stark. Just a little bit.

“You mean you’ll notice.” Clint grins at her, sitting in a chair with his feet resting on the table, mouth full of pizza. He was Henry Medhurst, Nadia’s long-suffering husband who secretly had his lawyer scouring the pre-nup for a loop hole. “Such a snob.”

Says the man whose boots are getting clumps of dirt on the marble top whilst he spills pizza toppings on his shirt. She raises an eyebrow.

“I’m sure Stark has something sufficient. I’ll be back.” She zips up the bag with their shoes and hangs his suit up on the rack.

She’s almost out the door when she pauses, turning back to catch Clint as he’s just about to shove another rolled up slice in his mouth.  “Get pizza sauce on my dress and die Barton.”

He waves her off but shuffles his chair away from where her dress is hanging, outside of any possible splatter radius. Good boy.

 

Stark is out of the tower speaking at a clean energy summit in Washington but Jarvis grants her access to his room easily enough and she immediately makes a beeline for the grandiose walk in wardrobe. She knows exactly where Stark keeps his expensive ties thanks to her time as his personal assistant.

The tie rack is a gorgeous floor to ceiling display of quality silk and she’s debating between the Ricci or Cavalli when a stroke of color on the back wall catches her eye.

Never one to ignore curiosity she moves a few more ties to get a better look and frowns. With more urgency she slides the ties across the bar, crumpling silk and cotton until she can uncover several inches of the image hiding on the back wall. Even with the partial picture she knows what this is….

“Bastard,” Natasha growls in disbelief that quickly turns to rage.

She starts throwing ties to the floor, viciously grabbing them by the handful and dumping them unceremoniously on the plush carpet.  She keeps going until the tie rack is empty, a few bare clips still swinging uselessly.

“I’m going to kill him.”

It’s her.

It’s a wall to ceiling high resolution print reproduction of her, lying on that itchy fake fur in nothing but the black lace underwear she still has in her closet because damn it, she looks good in it.

“I’m going to kill him.”

He’d blown the photo up and had it wallpapered on the inside of his wardrobe. Her, in her underwear, on his wall.

Oh, she is not going to kill him quick, no she’s going to make this painful, make this slow and excruciatingly thorough.

“Hey Tasha do you think you can grab me one of those handkerchief squares, I got pizza sauce on the… oh.” Clint stops in the doorway, a slice of pepperoni pizza in one hand, soiled pocket square in the other. He takes one look at Tony’s wall art and almost chokes. No literally, he almost chokes.

When’s he’s dislodged the offending pepper, he finds his voice.

“Huh…”

“Yes.” Natasha agrees darkly.

Clint wipes a bit of drool off his chin and leans against the door frame.

“You look good though, I mean you always look good but hey, not everyone can look good at four hundred percent magnification right…. although I think photoshopping the boobs was a bit much.”

Natasha whirls around to glare at him because honestly, in her initial shock she hadn’t noticed that little (big) detail. Clint had though, fairly quickly. He realizes his mistake.

“…Not that I could tell…you know, I only noticed because of the pixels and the uh….uh…” Clint scrunches up his face. “You’re going to hit me aren’t you?”

“Hard and repeatedly.”

Clint sighs and shoves the last of his pizza in his mouth, using the soiled handkerchief to wipe the mess off his hands.

“Okay, to the gym then. But stay away from the face, we’ve got a mission and all.”

Natasha takes a moment to collect herself and then follows him out the door.

“Don’t worry; I won’t be aiming for the face…”

 

Punching Clint helped ease the murderous urge a little but before she could get to the title fight who would be arriving back in the morning, SHIELD calls to push up their timeline for departure.

When she arrives back after the mission Pepper is sitting in the common room with a perfectly brewed tea set of Da Hong Pao.

“I’ve had the wallpaper removed. Please don’t hurt him.”

“I don’t know, I feel like this demands some kind of sacrifice,” Natasha says, sliding into the seat Pepper has set her and smelling the freshly made tea. It does smell delightful and just what she needs after a long flight.

Pepper smiles warmly, pouring the ridiculously expensive tea into two matched cups. Both women take a few quiet moments to just enjoy their tea without the threat of the world ending.

This is why Natasha likes Pepper Potts, the other woman aware that companionable silence is sometimes its own rare treat to indulge in.

“Okay, I won’t hurt him.”

“Thank you.”

Natasha smiles like a cat behind her teacup. “But I can’t promise he won’t hurt himself.”

Pepper sighs, the sound of a woman resigned to fact. “Yes, well. If only you could.”

 

 

ONE WEEK LATER

Natasha was going to honor her promise to Pepper. She really was. Only Stark had begun to float the idea of an Avengers themed calendar.  

 _“As a fundraiser of course. Rogers needs to be Mr July, obviously, and you can be Red October,”_ he had explained. When Natasha indicated she would, in _no possible way_ be participating in an Avengers themed calendar, Stark had thrown out that he still had those old modelling photos.

In the end Bruce had managed to talk him out of it but Natasha still felt a slightly murderous urge whenever she looked at him.  She couldn’t hurt him, she had promised Pepper, but she wouldn’t be the Black Widow if she couldn’t figure out a way around that.

 

Like any good plan, it starts in the kitchen.

Natasha times her entrance perfectly, exactly two minutes and twenty seconds before Stark’s due for his second morning coffee, giving her enough time to pour her own cup and pull down the box of artisan Turkish delight from where she’d been hiding it.

She’s picking one out of the box just as Stark enters.

“Sweets? In the morning?” Stark slides his sunglasses down his nose and lifts his chin.

She shrugs and pops a small square in her mouth, exaggerating a rather lurid sound of contentment. She then holds the box out between them.

He watches her warily, eyes narrowing. “Is it poisoned? Did you steal it from a child? It’s poisoned isn’t it?”

Natasha gives him her best fake-innocent smile and jiggles the box invitingly.

He tentatively reaches out, hovers his hand over the open pack before quickly snatching a rose water square and bringing it back to examine near his nose.

“Sure its not poisoned?” He looks at her suspiciously.

Natasha rolls her eyes. “It’s not poisoned Stark, I just don’t want to eat the whole box. I’ve got to watch my figure.” She closes the box and pops it back in the cupboard.

Stark is definitely not sold but he raises an eyebrow in challenge before throwing the sweet in his mouth.

“See?” she says when he swallows it.

His eyes are thin slits as he grabs his coffee mug and starts backing out the doorway. He points two fingers at himself and then to her. “I’m watching you sneaky spy who spies.” And then disappears back to his lair of debauchery…or workshop.

At the kitchen table, Clint looks up from his arrow repairs.

“Do I want to know?” he asks.

“No, this is a solo op. You’d just ruin it.”

 

 

And so it begins.

 

“All I’m saying is, light saber arrow.”

“No.”

Natasha is busy vetoing Clint’s terrible arrow ideas the next time Stark enters the kitchen, barefoot with two days worth of grease on his shirt. Naturally, his first stop is the coffee maker. Whilst he waits he reaches for the cupboard above, groping around a bit before he realizes his prize has clearly gone missing.

“Where are my snacks?” he asks the two spies in his kitchen.

“Snacks? What are you twelve?”

“Yes, yes I am. 1200% sure I never lost my snacks before you people infested my tower.”

“You invited us.” Natasha sighs and then reaches under the counter, “are these the berries you’re looking for?”

“See, Star Wars! Always a good idea,” Clint grins at her from his couch. She rolls her eyes.

“You stole my snacks?” Tony says.

“No, I found them.”

He snatches them from her hand, opens the packet and inspects them. “What have you replaced them with? I know how this works, I’ve watched Mean Girls!”

“They’re just berries,” she says before picking up her tea and leaving, making sure to nab one from the packet as she walks past.

“I’m going to lick them all!” Stark yells to her retreating back. “Every single one!”

 

 

As it turns out, Thor makes a surprisingly enthusiastic baking buddy. His style is a little rustic and she winces a bit when he eyeballs the inclusion of half a bowl of sugar into a recipe that only needs a cup, but it’s a small price to pay to admire those arms whilst he’s mixing the batter so she’s happy to run with it.

When the oven timer dings, she pulls out the first batch of cookies and Thor requests Jarvis to call the others.

Placing the cookies on the cooling rack Natasha eyes the lumpy masses and wonders if she should have supervised Thor a bit more during the mixing process. Probably.

Steve is the first to appear, skin still glistening from his workout and he’s closely followed by Stark in a suit, clearly using the assemblage to escape a meeting. When they reach the kitchen counter both men pause and eye the tray warily.

“Friends! Lady Natasha and I have been enjoying the Midgardian pursuit of baking. Please join us in enjoying this bite sized feast.” Thor greets them, flour still dusting his hands and face.

“They look…cooked.” Stark observes.

Steve, bless him, bravely dives in and takes the first cookie.

“It’s uh, really good buddy,” he chokes out dryly. “Maybe less sugar next time though.”

Thor beams with pride despite the addendum and Natasha can’t help but feel a little happy for him.

“Lady Natasha, you must try a cookie!” Thor booms and suddenly that happiness dissipates.

“That’s okay Thor, I’ll leave them for you boys to enjoy,” she demurs and tries to discreetly back away into the kitchen but Thor is having none of it.

“Nonsense, what chef does not enjoy the fruits of their labor?” He grins and hands her a lumpy cookie, lightly singed around the edges.

“That’s right Ginger Snap, you dished it out, now you get to eat it.” Tony crows, his own cookie held untouched in his hand. She scowls at him and contemplates all the ways she could incapacitate him with the tray of baked goods.

Thor is still looking at her with those eyes though and okay maybe this one backfired. She can still make it work for her.

With great gusto Natasha takes a bite, feeling the faint crunch of eggshell and does not wince, years of training helping her overcome the sickly sweetness of the cookie. “Mmmm, this is delightful Thor, Tony why don’t you try yours.”

Thor looks to Stark and the billionaire looks like he’d rather be back in his meeting. Hesitantly he brings the cookie to his lips.

“Mmmghm, yep, really goodmph,” he mumbles, face turning a little pink.

“Go on Stark, like you mean it,” Natasha goads, taking another bite and calmly swallowing. Stark, never one to back down from a challenge, glares at her and takes a large mouthful. Game on.

“Wonderful,” Thor cheers, “the next batch of spiced cookies will be ready posthaste.”

It’s a dozen cookies later before they call it a draw.

Later that night Natasha cleans the kitchen, trying to control her protesting stomach when she hears creaking in the vents above her. Casually she reaches up and slides one of the last cookies through the slats. There’s a brief moment of silence, a crunch and then half the cookie is hurled back out the vent.

Well, doesn’t that say something.

 

 

Natasha doesn’t really do team movie nights. Clint likes it but she suspects it’s less the entertainment factor and more the captive audience he has to subject his terrible jokes on. Still, sometimes it’s nice to watch the wonder on Steve’s face at the CGI, or the way Bruce laughs and pokes holes at pseudo movie science.

Halfway through they break for snacks, Stark whining that Rogers has eaten all the popcorn. Natasha knows an opportunity when she sees one so she heads to the kitchen and packs two scoops of ice cream in a bowl, adds whipped cream, hot fudge sauce and some nuts and then decides, what the hell, and repeats the routine again. She eyes the last cherry while Clint eyes her like she’s just told him arrows are glorified sticks. If he keeps it up he’s going to ruin her plan so she reaches over and plonks the last cherry on his sundae monstrosity. Let it not be said that the Black Widow didn’t have manners.

She takes her bowl to the couch and someone presses play on Return of the Jedi.

“You know what, I’m full,” she announces two bites and five minutes in to the movie. Clint licks his lips and Steve eyes her bowl enviously, both clearly anticipating sharing the sugary goodness but she looks past them to Stark.

“Want it?” she asks him, holding out the fast melting treat. Stark takes one look at her bowl, and then to Clint who’s still kind of drooling over it and Steve who’s trying not to look too put out.

“What did you do to it?”

“Nothing. I’m just not hungry anymore but if you don’t want it I’ll give it to Steve.” She moves to hand the leftover ice cream to the Captain, ignoring Clint’s whine, when Stark hastily reaches across and takes the bowl, hugging it to his chest.

“No, mine,” he says, sticking his tongue out at Rogers.

Natasha smirks and leans back in her chair.

 

 

She’s talking to Steve in the common room when it finally happens; Stark comes barreling into the room and points at her accusingly.

“You…you’ve been fattening me up!” he growls. “Are you going to eat me? I don’t know if I find that exhilarating or terrifying…”

Natasha rolls her eyes. “I’ve done no such thing,” she answers coolly. “What’s wrong, suit a little too tight?”

Stark glares at her and she smiles inwardly because yes, that’s exactly the problem.

“It’s the calendar thing isn’t it?” he accuses. “You just don’t want me on the cover.”

“It’s really not.”

Steve, who had been watching the conversation with an adorably confused look, chooses this time to step in. “Now, Tony I don’t think your diet is Natasha’s fault-”

“Of course it is. The snacks, the cookies, the ice cream. I’m onto you Red.”

“- but if you’re worried you could always join me in the gym, I bet I could get you fighting fit in no time.”

“I am not joining your high school fitness challenge,” Stark balks at him.

“Well then,” Natasha says. “I suppose you could always Photoshop that cover. I hear you’re good at that.”

The look on Stark’s face is priceless.

 

 

When Clint finds her later she's sitting high up in the ladders of the training room, positioned perfectly to watch the sparring session happening on the mats below.

“Want one?” Clint grins at her, holding out an open packet of gummi worms. Natasha shakes her head at him but takes one anyway, scrunching her nose when the taste of sour apple hits her tongue.

Together they sit shoulder to shoulder and watch as Captain America puts Stark in yet another chokehold.

“So this was your plan? To have Cap beat Stark to a pulp all in the name of weight loss? I’ve got to say, that’s kind of genius.” Clint bumps her shoulder with his. She shrugs and steals another gummi worm, watching Stark pull himself out of a chokehold only to be rolled and caught in an arm bar. “But you know Stark doesn’t look like he put on any weight?”

“Because he didn’t,” Natasha admits, “I may have asked Jarvis to shrink his suit a little. It’s not my fault if he drew his own conclusions.”

Clint stares at her in awe. “So he’s down there getting pummeled…for nothing?” His point is emphasized by the loud smack of body hitting mat and Stark’s pained groan.

Natasha smirks. “Not for nothing. He’ll think twice before bringing up those photos again.” And she didn’t even break her promise to Pepper so win-win she thinks, watching as Stark gets thrown across the mat again.

“So uh…what if I’ve still got a copy of that photo?” Clint asks playfully. “You gonna feed me?”

Natasha raises an eyebrow at him but Clint grins at her and pops another gummi worm in his mouth.

“I’m sure we can think of some fun ways to burn it off.”

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea what this is other than a bit of fun.


End file.
